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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22804207">Somnolence</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/NorsePearl/pseuds/NorsePearl'>NorsePearl</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Final Fantasy XIV</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Body Horror, Final Fantasy XIV: Shadowbringers, Horror, Locked In, Locked-in-body syndrome, Minor Character Death, Other, POV Minor Character, Psychological Horror, no beta we die like men</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-02-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 06:47:31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>942</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22804207</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/NorsePearl/pseuds/NorsePearl</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>What would it be like to be aware of an Ascian having control of your body for your entire life?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>27</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Somnolence</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It’s impossible to tell just how long he’s been stuck like this.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>What remains of how this all happened reminds him of a bad nightmare, fragments of a dark figure that whispered of power, appearing as if from nothing. Mayhap it simply changed places with him after luring him in with tempting promises of justice for Garlemald, sweet whispers of his own personal glory and adoration from the masses that he had supported thus far in a rather promising career. But no, he reminds himself. That was not as scary as this is. What he is currently experiencing is the true nightmare as it’s still ongoing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Where one must rise, another must fall. And thus he was forced back to the role of spectator.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Days?</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>At first he tries to fight it, to wrest control back into his own hands. Hands that do as they will from what he can tell. Fingers that move in ways that he doesn’t intend them to. And not just his hands… none of his limbs belong to him, even if he can feel them ever so keenly. Every minute sensation, every grand movement, the peculiar sense of where his limbs are at any moment. All of his senses all remain available to him from what he can tell … How could he ever ignore all that unfolds before him when he can’t even close his eyes? So many images flash before him, too many for him to count or even register as time passes on. As if caught in a theatrical act it plays out in front of him, unable to influence in any kind no matter how much he tries to take part. A stage where he is the main character, yet unable to break from the twisted script his body takes part in. Even though this is happening around him it all feels so distant at the same time. It’s him, yet not. His body navigates with an eerie ease as if possessed by a will different from his own. Still he tries over and over, yet the limbs move contrary to his wishes and desires, his voice speaking words that he hasn’t even formed in his own hazy mind. What is this state he has been forced into?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Try as he might to break out there’s an ever present force that tugs him back every time he tries to seize control over his flesh again.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Months? </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Feelings flitter and scenes play out in what consciousness he still possesses. Strangers that he does not know, their words sometimes muffled and unintelligible to his senses as they turn foggy at times. It’s far easier to focus on certain things - like the sensations of pleasure and pain that offer some respite from the mental numbness. It at least makes him feel somewhat alive in this dreamlike state, this waking sleep or whatever it might be. After all this time he still does not know, as nobody can offer him any answers. There is only that presence that engulfs him and urges him to stay put. But how can he stop himself from trying? Not that it does him much good.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Despite how much he tries he can’t reach the figures looking at him. The screams resonate only within his own mind, even as his voice delivers sweet words in a drawl that is not his own. Why is it that they can’t hear him? Surely they should be able to tell that this is all so wrong, that it’s not truly him? Do they not recognize him? His own words refuse to leave his mouth, no matter how much he envisions himself screaming at the top of his lungs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It does not help that there’s that familiar feeling urging him to quiet down, to relax. That this is just as it should be. Settle down, rest… like he’s done for so long now. It’s for the better if he continues doing just that.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Years? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And amidst the horrors… there is the bitter sweetness that feels wrong... yet offers some solace from whatever this is. Softness of skin, peculiar comfort that can’t help but appear alien as he allows himself to indulge in this, just for a break. A warm woman, children that cling to him - while he doesn’t know them, it’s an escape from all the other nightmares. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nations falling by his feet, one by one… the metallic scent of blood and screams that are not his own. All he can piece together is that this is far more than he ever intended. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Somehow the tenderness feels even more horrific at times, but even so he yearns for it none the same. Something, anything to even rise slightly from the numbness that has entangled him in its grasp and refuses to let go.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Decades?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Part of him wishes for it all to stop, yet he can’t help but fear what will happen if it does. Yet… wouldn’t it be even more horrific if it never does? A puppet to whatever moves him, makes him do all of these things.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>An eternity.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s almost unexpected when the grasp finally… </span>
  <em>
    <span>finally</span>
  </em>
  <span> lets go. It takes a great amount of energy, but after all this time Solus feels his own chest rise for one final time, the muscles of his torso moving of his own will at least. A sense of liberation that’s been sorely missed as he feels his lips too obey him as they tug into a slight smile. His other senses are weakened and still numb, still he feels his spirits soar… and then promptly fall along with his consciousness as it at long last finally ends.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Inspired by locked-in-body syndrome, a scary medical phenomenon. I was inspired by friends and I'm sorry not sorry for writing this. It was something I had to get out of my head.</p><p>Want to check out a <a href="https://discord.gg/2PcQEJE">Discord</a> for your Emet-Selch fanfic needs?</p></blockquote></div></div>
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